


Karaoke Night

by mrs_d



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bucky Barnes sings karaoke, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Dubious Science, Humor, Hydra (Marvel), Inspired By Tumblr, Inspired by Real Events, Multi, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, The healing power of 90s rock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-30
Updated: 2015-09-30
Packaged: 2018-04-24 02:39:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4902343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrs_d/pseuds/mrs_d
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the last chord faded, the room was completely silent. Barnes actually smiled for half a second before his eyes widened, and he bolted. </p><p>“Tell me you got that on video, JARVIS,” Tony murmured.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Karaoke Night

**Author's Note:**

> <http://buckyno.co.vu/post/130125012218>
> 
> As shown in the link above, someone asked Sebastian Stan about his go-to karaoke song, and he replied by singing two lines of "Basket Case" by Green Day. My brain connected that song to Bucky post-Winter Soldier, added Tony being a loveable, well-intentioned jerk, sprinkled in some HYDRA sciencey hand-waving, and voila: I have created something completely ridiculous. (But hopefully fun.)

**December 30, 1999, 3:58AM**

Eric Jameson hesitated, his hands hovering over the console. “Waters, this really isn’t a good idea. If Director Pierce finds out—”

Mark Waters sighed for the third time since they’d snuck into the facility. “He’s not going to find out, Jameson. God, grow a pair already.”

“But if I fuck up the programming—”

“Then don’t fuck it up. Plain and simple.”

“Oh, sure, when you put it that way,” Jameson muttered.

“Don’t be modest. You’re the best tech HYDRA’s got at this prep station, and you know it.”

Jameson couldn’t suppress a small smile. “Thank you?”

“You’re welcome. Now, pitter patter.”

Jameson’s fingers touched the keys, then he pulled back again. “This feels like a misappropriation of resources.”

Waters shrugged, the rifle shifting in his hands. “Probably is. But unless you’ve got a better idea of how we’re going to test your wacky theory about music and the brain...”

“I don’t,” Jameson sighed. Three universities had already shut down his research, all but blacklisting him before he found a home with HYDRA. “But how are we ever going to explain it if he—”

“It,” said Waters sharply, with a quick sidelong glance.

“What?”

“Pronoun rule, remember?”

Jameson rolled his eyes impatiently. “Right. Right, it. Whatever.”

Waters looked suddenly anxious. “Come on, man, get your fingers moving. We don’t got all night.”

"Fine." Jameson started typing in commands, the green text flashing across the black screens in front of him. “But you’re the one taking the bullet if, the next time Pierce wants a mission report, he— _it_ starts singing.”

“Just program it for specific circumstances. When it feels safe, with people it trusts.”

“The asset doesn’t have people it trusts,” Jameson protested, fingers still flying over the keys. “It never feels safe.”

“Exactly!” cried Waters, raising his voice over the noise of the cranial modification apparatus descending from the ceiling; that creak was getting damned annoying. “No one will ever know that we gave it a full 20th century musical repertoire.”

Jameson turned away from the console. “Then what the hell is the point, Waters?”

“The point, Jameson, is _fun_. And science. Or something.” Waters shoved the rubber mouth guard in place; things were about to get even louder. “You’re the one with all the degrees, you tell me.”

**September 29, 2015, 1:27PM**

Sam rubbed the back of his neck and switched his phone from one ear to the other. “I’ve got to say, Romanov, you’ve had better ideas.”

He could practically hear Natasha roll her eyes. “What makes you think this was _my_ idea?”

“Like you haven’t spent the last three months trying to get your Soviet buddy back in the world.”

“No worse than you and your American buddy, Wilson.”

“Irrelevant,” Sam protested immediately.

“Look, just come to the Tower for 6:30, okay? All three of you. We’ll have dinner, maybe a few drinks, listen to some music, watch a movie. Nothing strenuous, I promise. You can stay the night, even, and cut down on that stressful travel.”

“I don’t know...” Sam glanced out the front window. In the yard, Steve had popped the hood and was explaining something about his new (to him) ‘59 Chev. Bucky was hanging back, squinting into the engine like it might explode.

“Come on, Sam,” said Natasha, and her voice was different, less teasing. “Don’t tell me you and Rogers couldn’t do with a night out. We’ll all be here if something happens. Which it won't.”

“All right,” Sam sighed. “But I’m holding you to it. You better not let me down, Natasha.”

“When have I ever done that?”

**9:07PM**

Pepper had had two more glasses of wine than she normally did. “This was a great idea, Tony. I love karaoke. What should I sing?”

Tony set down his second scotch. “JARVIS’ database is huge. Like, enormous. You’ll find something. Hey, I wonder if we can get Robot Boy up there.”

“Tony, you know Steve hates it when you call him that.”

“Better than Basket Case....” Tony got that look in his eye that Pepper instinctively connected with future lawsuits. “Oh my god, that’s too perfect. Do you think he knows it? What am I saying, of course he doesn’t.”

Pepper cocked her head, feeling like she’d missed a few salient points. “What are you—?”

“Come on, it’s a good song. Very 90s. I think he’ll dig it. Not like he can’t relate.”

“Tony, no,” Pepper scolded once she’d caught on. “That’s mean. Not to mention Steve will kill you.”

Tony shook his head and took a sip of his drink. “No, he won’t. JARVIS, cue it up for when he's done making out with Bird Boy Two on the balcony.”

"As you wish, Sir."

Pepper buried her face in her hands. “ _Tony_...”

**9:31PM**

When the last chord faded, the room was completely silent. Barnes actually smiled for half a second before his eyes widened, and he bolted. Steve and Sam glanced at each other and took chase while everyone else wandered out to the balcony somewhat awkwardly.

“Tell me you got that on video, JARVIS,” Tony murmured when they were alone.

“Of course, Sir.”

“God bless whoever programmed your auto-record algorithms.”

“That would be you, Sir.”

**September 30, 2015, 12:34AM**

Steve set his jaw and glared at Tony through the bright holographic displays scattered throughout the workshop. “Take the video down, Tony.”

Tony didn’t even look his way. “The people love it. It’s already got, like, 50 million views. Okay, maybe not 50 million, but a lot.”

Steve swiped at the images, but they didn’t move. He walked through them instead. “Take it _down_ , Tony.”

Tony sighed and finally met Steve’s eye. “It makes us look good, Cap. Isn’t that your thing, looking good for the cameras?”

“I don’t care how it makes us look,” Steve growled. “He’s upset. Take it down.”

“Why?”

“You know damn well why.”

“...Because he’ll kill me in my sleep?”

Despite his anger, Steve's lips twitched in a half-smile. “With any luck, Tony, you won’t be sleeping.”

**3:46AM**

“Stark!”

Tony jerked out of the doze he’d apparently slipped into, and scrambled off the leather couch.

“Christ, Barton,” he complained when he saw who it was. “What is this, the League of Noisy Assassins? Do you guys have any idea what time it is?”

“3:46 AM,” Barnes said, his voice tight.

“Thanks, Bionic Commando,” Tony retorted, refusing to admit he was a little unnerved by that stare. “You want to tell me why you’re barging into my workshop while all the good little girls and boys are tucked in their beddy-byes?”

Barnes’ mouth twisted up in a sardonic grin. “Got it in one.”

“Steve wouldn’t let him out of his sight,” Barton put in helpfully.

Tony squinted at him. “You didn’t shoot him with a poison arrow, did you?”

Barton shrugged. “He’ll metabolize the horse tranq in 30 minutes. No harm, no foul.”

“So that means you only get 28 more minutes to look menacing, huh,” Tony said, turning back to Barnes and realizing that he was suddenly a lot closer to him. “Say, that arm’s looking awful shiny,” Tony babbled. “What do you use, the super high gloss polish, or—”

“Take the video down, Stark,” said Barnes in a low, lethal voice.

Tony took a deep breath and tried to move back. “Okay, one: I already had this conversation with your boyfriend, and you guys really need some fresh material. Maybe you could hire a team, get Conan.”

“You know he doesn’t know who that is, right?” Barton asked nonchalantly.

“I DVRed tonight’s episode, maybe we could—” Metal fingers were suddenly less than an inch from Tony’s face. “Okay, okay, scary metal hand away from the throat. _Away_ from the throat! Let’s talk truce, yeah?”

Slowly, Barnes lowered his arm. “Yesli on dvizhetsya, strelyat’ v nego,” he murmured.

Tony blinked, then took a chance and leaned slightly to the right to look at Barton over Barnes’ shiny shoulder. “I didn’t know you spoke Russian.”

Bird Boy One was grinning, the cocky asshole. “He wasn’t talking to me.”

“Oh, crap, you mean Romanov’s in on this, too?” Tony’s gaze swept the workshop, but there was no sign of She Who Could Kill Him With Her Thighs. “All right, fine. I surrender. I’ll take it down.”

“Thank you,” Barnes replied, and he moved back a few inches.

“But you, Tall, Dark, and Dangerous,” Tony continued, wondering when, exactly, he lost his exceptional sense of self-preservation. “You have to convince me you didn’t have fun up there.”

Barnes’ eyes narrowed.

“Tell me it was no fun,” Tony went on. “Tell me it wasn’t at least a little enjoyable to stand up there in front of your friends — except me, of course, since I’m your future murder victim — and make like a rock star for three minutes.”

“That’s not the point, Stark,” Barton interjected. “The point is HYDRA taught him to do that. It wasn’t a choice.”

“Didn’t ask you,” said Tony, not giving Clint an iota of his attention. “Come on, Barnes. Tell me it was no fun.”

Barnes bit at his lip uncertainly.

The words kept coming, and Tony didn’t even try to stop them because they felt right. “Think of it like your arm. It’s a tool. Sure, it’s a tool made by the devil, but it’s still pretty damn useful, isn’t it? Especially for threatening billionaires?”

“That part was enjoyable,” Barnes admitted, with something like a smile.

Tony nodded, encouraged. “See? For some unfathomable reason, you have a catalog of music in your head. Try to see it as a privilege. You could use it to have fun with your friends — except maybe Steve, he doesn’t get the 90s — or you could torture people with that awful “Kiss Me” song. The point is that you choose how to use it.”

That was definitely a smile now. Tony grinned back, feeling like he was finally meeting Bucky Barnes for the first time.

**4:14AM**

Steve came awake all at once and groaned as he worked the dart out of his neck. The small wound had already mostly closed around it, but a few spots of blood clung to his fingertips when he pulled them away.

“Dammit,” he muttered, remembering what had happened. He picked himself up off the floor and starting looking for Sam, hoping that Barton hadn’t drugged him, too.

He hadn’t, but someone — probably Bucky — had tied Sam’s wrists to the headboard in the master bedroom of the guest suite and stuffed a handkerchief in his mouth. It was almost sexy, but Steve had more important things to worry about.

“Are you okay?” Steve asked, setting about freeing him.

“Other than pissed? Yeah, I’m good.” Sam massaged his wrists and glared at him. “Guess this is what I get for falling for a super soldier. Again.”

Steve grimaced. “I’m sorry, Sam. He drugged me.”

“Fuck. Think he went after Tony?”

Steve grabbed his shield from where he’d left it by his luggage. “Yeah. Let’s move.”

They hurried up to Tony’s penthouse, and, moving as one, they started towards the stairs to the workshop. Steve halted only two steps down, and Sam walked into his back.

“Do you hear something?” Steve whispered over his shoulder.

“I don’t have super ears,” Sam whispered back.

“Right.” Steve took a couple more steps, then paused again. “I think it’s... music?”

They hurried the rest of the way down and stopped dead, staring into the room. Steve’s jaw dropped, and he heard Sam gasp beside him.

“Allow me to get the door, Captain,” said JARVIS suddenly, and a wall of noise hit him when the doors swung open. Steve stepped into the room, moving in a fog.

Tony, Pepper, Natasha, and Clint were gathered in a semi-circle in the center of the workshop, doing that shuffle thing that apparently counted as dancing nowadays, and grinning up at Bucky, who was performing on the round platform where Tony usually tested his armor. One of Tony's robots had been commissioned to act as a microphone stand, but Bucky didn’t need it. He clutched the mic in his left hand, his body nearly folded in half, his hair bouncing to the beat of that god-awful song he’d sung earlier.

Steve watched, mesmerized, as Bucky straightened up for the last chorus, gripping the make-shift microphone stand with both hands and bending his knees, shifting his hips forward in a way that was bizarrely but undeniably sexy.

Steve felt Sam’s hand on his wrist, and he glanced over to see a look he recognized; Steve wasn’t the only one suddenly finding 90s rock music appealing.

“ _It all keeps adding up! I think I’m cracking up! Am I just paranoid? Am I just stoned?_ ”

Finally, the last clashing notes faded. The small crowd clapped and cheered, and Bucky, flushed and grinning, caught sight of Steve and Sam at the back of the room.

“Stevie! Get up here, we’re doing more karaoke,” he cried into the mic, his voice echoing across the workshop. “JARVIS, do you have Suspicious Minds by Elvis Presley?”

**Author's Note:**

> Yesli on dvizhetsya, strelyat’ v nego (Если он движется, стрелять в него) = "If he moves, shoot him."


End file.
